Still
by BBBon
Summary: He can't let her go. It's not fair that the first time he gets to hold her is also the last, and he can't let her go.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Containment or any of its characters

...

He can't let her go.

It's not fair that the first time he gets to hold her is also the last. And he can't let her go.

He has no idea how long he sits there. She's been still for awhile, and he knows he needs to get up, but he can't. He just sits there, holding her in his lap, one hand wrapped around her shoulder and the other still clutching her own hand to his chest. Her fingers are wrapped around his, and after all this time of imagining how it would feel, he just can't let her go. He doesn't move. He'll sit there all night or forever, it doesn't matter. He just can't let her go yet.

There's so much blood. She's covered in it. _He's_ covered in it. He's pretty sure he's never seen so much blood in his life, and he's seen a lot of terrible things. It doesn't matter, though. He's not afraid of it.

She's still beautiful.

He doesn't take his eyes off her. He tries to remember everything about the shape of her face and her neck and the curve of her lips because he knows he doesn't have any other way. Not even a picture. He just wants to commit everything to memory because he knows he'll never get this feeling back. He'll never experience this again. And even if it's terrible, he still wants to remember it. He tries to remember the way she feels weighted in his arms and how her fingers feel wrapped around his own. He needs all of it.

He hears the door to the room click open, but he doesn't look up. He doesn't feel like he's physically able to look anywhere else besides her face. A few seconds pass before he finally hears Dr. Cannerts's voice.

"Quentin is asking questions… I didn't know what you wanted him to know, so I…"

Jake doesn't move. How did it happen that it's suddenly his responsibility to decide how much or how little Quentin gets to know?

"I can talk to him if you'd like. I just didn't know if-"

"I'll talk to him." Jake hears his voice, and it sounds foreign and weird to his ears. It's almost like he's unsure how it's possible that he's actually still able to form words when all of the air feels like it's been sucked out of his body. He keeps his eyes locked on Katie, counting every single second as something precious.

"Right." Dr. Cannerts sounds uncomfortable, and Jake can imagine him hovering by the doorway. "I'll get someone to clean up, and we can move the body in a few hours. I'll have someone else handle it, so you don't have to deal with it."

The body.

Dr. Cannerts is trying to be thoughtful, offering to have someone else deal with all of it so Jake doesn't have to put himself through it. Jake knows all of these things, so he realizes the anger he feels at the suggestion is incredibly misguided. He can't help it, though. He doesn't understand how this man can just talk about the situation, _the body_ , like it's just one of the other hundreds of corpses that have come through this hospital via body bags or quarantine rooms in the past few weeks.

"I'll do it." He pushes the anger away because he knows it's pointless.

"I really don't think-"

"I'll do it." He repeats himself, grinding his back teeth a little because he just wants to be left alone. "I'll talk to Quentin, and then I'll… take care of her."

Dr. Cannerts obviously gets the hint because Jake hears him clear his throat. "Right. Well, I'll just…" A second later, he hears the door click closed again, and Jake lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

He feels like he's moving in slow motion, almost like his body is moving without his mind's permission. He manages to stand up without letting her go, and he moves the few steps back to her bed. It's a mess of blood and tangled blankets and sheets, but he forces himself to lay her down anyway. He closes his eyes as he straightens back up, gently pulling his hand away from hers and trying not to notice the stiffness that has already set in.

It takes an eternity before he's able to leave her.

His feet carry him blindly to the sanitation room, and he suddenly can't move quickly enough to get the hazmat suit off of his body. He peels it off and shoves it through the disposal shoot, and the second his face hits air again, it's like he suddenly can't breathe.

He runs to the nearest bathroom and barely makes it to the sink before he's throwing up. His first reaction should be panic. Any sign of illness is terrifying in the cordon, but he knows he's not sick. His body is just revolting against him, and he can't blame it. He throws up everything in his stomach and then continues dry heaving for several seconds afterward.

He's weak and out of breath, and he can barely lift his head to the mirror as he turns on the faucet. He looks like shit. He's pale, and his eyes are bloodshot and empty. He scoops some water into his mouth, trying to wash the taste of puke out, but it barely makes a difference. He also tries slapping water into his face, but there's no change. He still looks terrible.

At least the outside matches the inside.

He feels his knees giving out, and before he knows it, he's on the floor. He lies down instinctively, pressing his face against the cold tile. He doesn't think about germs or risk or anything. He just wants to lie there and not move for as long as he can. For forever maybe. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. He tries to regulate his breaths, clear his chest some, do anything he can to make the pressure weighing down on him lift a little. He feels like something is crushing him, like his lungs are going to collapse or maybe like his heart is going to explode. He never wants to move.

But Quentin.

He has to get up, and he has to go tell Quentin. It's the last thing he wants to do, but he knows he has to. He knows that's what Katie would want. She wouldn't want Dr. Cannerts or anyone else telling him. She'd just want Jake, so that's what forces him off of the ground.

The storage wing feels so empty. When they first went on lockdown, he thought he would suffocate from how crowded it was. But now it's just a big room full of empty cots and only one body. Quentin's lying on his side, facing the opposite wall. Jake stands in the doorway for a second and tries to catch his breath. He knows he has to keep it together, no matter how badly he just wants to fall apart.

His feet feel like lead as he drags them across the room, but he forces himself to move until he can sit down on the empty cot behind Quentin. He doesn't say anything, just sits there wondering if Quentin's even awake. Part of him hopes he's not, but another part just wants to get this over with. Delaying it a few hours or even until morning isn't going to change anything. It doesn't take long, though, and Quentin rolls over and pushes himself into a sitting position. His eyes are red and puffy, and Jake can tell he's been crying.

"Nobody will tell me anything."

Jake swallows and tries to force a smile, but it fails miserably. Quentin just looks at him and then finally says, "Is she okay?"

Moving his head barely an inch side to side is one of the hardest things Jake's ever done in his life.

Quentin stares at him, and Jake watches his eyes get wet. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and then he finally manages out a broken question. "Is she…"

He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to. Jake just nods because he has no other choice. He bites down hard on the back of his teeth, trying with everything he has to keep it together and not break down. Two tears slide down Quentin's cheeks, and he just stares at the ground, almost like he's in shock or something. Jake can't take it anymore.

"I'm so sorry."

He switches to the other cot until he's sitting right beside Quentin. He knows he's breaking every rule in the book, but he pulls him into a hug because he can't sit there and let him go through this alone. "I'm so sorry…"

He keeps repeating it over and over, and he doesn't even know what he's apologizing for. He's sorry for so many things that he can't even narrow it down. He's sorry that Quentin has to deal with this. He's sorry that he has to lose a mom and figure out how to go on with life. He's sorry that he couldn't do anything. He's sorry that he didn't save her, that he couldn't stop this from happening, and that he was helpless against all of it. He's just _sorry._

Quentin's crying. Jake can feel him shaking slightly, but he doesn't say anything. He's got his face pressed into Jake's shoulder, and he's clutching the back of his shirt like he's afraid to let go. Jake keeps murmuring apologies and closes his eyes, trying to keep his own tears away. He feels like the lump in his throat is literally going to choke him, but he can't risk trying to swallow it because it might end with him sobbing. He can't do that right now. He has to be here for Quentin.

Because he knows how it feels.

He was eleven when his own mom died. He knew she was sick, but no one would ever tell him the whole truth. It happened fast, just a couple of months maybe. She tried to hide as much as she could from him, and he did his best to pretend like she was being successful. It was hard, though, and he didn't know if it was the right thing. He still doesn't know. He just knows how it feels, and that's why he doesn't care about the rules or the risks or anything while he hugs the kid in front of him.

There's a big part of him that just needs it, too, though. He doesn't want to go through it alone, either.

"Did she hurt a lot?" Quentin's voice sounds small and scared, and it's muffled from where he's still got his face hidden.

Jake doesn't know what to say. He wants to be honest, but he can't. He can't tell him that she was convulsing on the floor and choking on her own blood. But he doesn't want to lie, either, so he just says, "Dr. Cannerts gave her some medicine to help stop the pain."

Just forming a sentence takes every ounce of energy he has in him. He does it, though, because he has to keep it together. He tells himself that over and over in his head. He has to be okay so Quentin can be okay.

"Can I see her?"

Jake squeezes his eyes closed and tries to not freak out. Images of Katie flash through his head, though, and all he can see is the blood. There's no way he can let Quentin walk into that.

"Not right now."

Quentin lifts his head then, pulling away from the hug and looking straight at Jake. There are still tears on his cheeks, but he seems extremely determined. "I know what they look like when they die. I'm not scared."

"I know you're not." Jake swallows, but the lump just seems to grow. "It's just not safe right now… You can see her. Just not right now, okay?"

Quentin looks like he wants to argue, but after a couple of seconds, he nods. Then he sucks both of his lips in and puffs his cheeks. It's very obvious that he's trying to stop crying, but that's always so much easier said than done. He finally takes in a shaky breath and says, "I need to go to the bathroom."

Jake nods, and Quentin takes off. It's obvious that he just wants to be alone, probably to break down completely. Jake doesn't judge him. He understands completely, and the second Quentin disappears into the hallway, Jake lets out the hugest breath he didn't even know he was holding. His chest immediately starts working overtime trying to keep up the lack of oxygen, and he falls back against the cot and digs the heels of both hands into his eyes.

He's never felt like this in his entire life. He feels like there's nothing inside of him except pressure. For a second, he's worried that he might actually be having a heart attack, but he can't be bothered enough to do anything about it if he is. It's so weird. He feels the worst pain of his entire existence and total numbness at the same time. Katie's comment about the treatment making her feel both better and not flashes through his mind, and hearing her voice in his head makes his breathing shudder.

He just wants to wake up. He wants this to be a bad nightmare, and he just wants to _wake up._ He doesn't know how anything's going to be okay, and he's never been so terrified in his entire life. He's both in shock and totally conscious of everything that's happening, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do or how he's supposed to ever do anything again. He just lies there, both hands covering his eyes. He can't do anything else- can't move or think or even breathe. If he tries to do anything, he's a hundred percent positive that he'll fail miserably. So he just stays where he is and tries to not totally lose it.

He doesn't move until he hears footsteps, and he knows Quentin's back. And as badly as he wants to just fall apart and let everything out, he just holds it back and forces himself back into a sitting position. Quentin doesn't sit down. He just stands there awkwardly and watches the ground for a few seconds. His eyes are still really red, but he's not crying. He looks like he wants to say something but is maybe too nervous.

"What's up?" Jake forces his mouth to move and form words. He tries to keep his voice as neutral as possible because if he lets even the slightest emotion out, he's not going to be able to stop any of it.

Quentin doesn't say anything. He's still just staring at the floor, his eyes fluttering nervously. Jake gives him time, though. He waits several long moments before Quentin finally lifts his head and barely whispers, "Did you stay there with her?"

Jake nods, trying his best to hold it all together. "Yeah." He swallows and tries to clear his throat a little. "Yeah, I stayed."

"So she didn't have to be alone?"

"She wasn't alone, buddy."

Quentin's eyes fill up with tears again, and he gives a shaky little nod. Jake doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He doesn't even know how to handle himself, much less what to do with Quentin. He needs Katie there to tell him what to do. He needs her to tell him how he's supposed to handle this and what Quentin needs right now and how he's supposed to comfort him even a little.

As hard as he fights it, he feels his own tears threatening to break through, and even though he does his best to keep them away, he feels his eyes sting and then eventually tear up. It's a lost cause after that, and he's crying before he can stop himself. He knows it's the wrong thing to do right now. He knows he shouldn't be crying in front of Quentin and that he's just making things worse, but he can't help it. He can't help anything. He's never felt more helpless before in his life.

He drops his head into his hands, elbows on his knees in some last ditch effort to hide the fact that he's falling apart. It doesn't work, of course, and when he feels Quentin sit down beside him and place a slightly shaky hand on his shoulder, he just gives up. He's never understood heartbreak before and always just found it to be hyperbolic and ridiculous. But he understands it now. His heart feels like it's being ripped right in half, like somebody is literally squeezing the life out of him.

"I'm glad you were with her." Quentin's voice is right beside his ear, and he's so quiet. "She wouldn't want to be by herself…"

Jake can't take it anymore. He can't sit here crying when this kid's _mother_ just died. He needs to deal with his own grief, but he doesn't need to do it in front of her son. He has to get it together or get out. He tries to hold his breath and force the tears to stop, but it doesn't work. He can't get himself under control, so he just needs to get out. When he stands up, though, Quentin's almost panicked voice stops him.

"Are you leaving?"

Jake catches his breath enough to shake his head. "No. No, I just need to…" He doesn't know. Need to what? Scream? Cry? Punch something? Hug something? He doesn't know.

"But you're coming back?" Quentin sounds so small and so scared, and if Jake thought his heart couldn't possibly hurt even more, he was wrong. He knows he's not doing the right thing, but he can't help it.

"I'm coming back." He wipes at his eyes and chances a quick glance at Quentin. "I promise."

Quentin looks worried and confused, but he nods anyway. Jake needs out _now_. He barely even makes it to the door and into the hallway before he loses it completely. The tears just overpower him, and he can't even see as he walks aimlessly through the halls toward some unknown destination.

When he can't walk anymore, he finally just drops his head against the wall and lets himself sob. He can't stop or clear his head or anything. All he can do is just stand there crying against the wall, trying not to think of all the hours he's spent in these halls just doing nothing. Just laughing and talking and getting to know the most amazing person he's ever met in his entire life. He can't think about it.

But of course, he _does_ think about it.

Everything is still too fresh. They were here just a few days ago, laughing and joking while they tried to dodge the kids for a few minutes. It seems like an eternity ago, not just three days. Time is so weird in here. Two and a half weeks feels like a lifetime, but it's not. It's just a short amount of time. A _cruelly_ short amount of time. And… He can't breathe.

He sits down, knowing that his legs aren't going to hold him much longer, and he just cries. He feels hopeless and useless, and there's nothing he can do about any of it. He feels like he's in shock, like there's no way that any of this can be happening. None of it feels like real life, and he just wants to pinch himself really, really hard and wake up. But of course he doesn't wake up because he's not asleep. All of this is real, and he really is just as hopeless and useless as he feels.

He's vaguely aware of the footsteps that are coming toward him, but he doesn't really register it until he seems someone standing in front of him. It's Nurse Helen. She stops, and he knows what he must look like. He can't do anything about it. It's not like he can hide the fact that he's crying on the floor of a hospital hallway. He doesn't even care.

"I'm sorry." She sounds quiet and nervous, and he can't even really look at her.

He just nods, not sure what he's supposed to say or how he's supposed to respond. He's not sure he's even in a position to receive condolences or whatever this is supposed to be. He doesn't even know how he's supposed to be reacting, but he's also not sure that there are any set guidelines on how he's supposed to feel. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

"Does Quentin…" Helen's voice trails off, and Jake just nods, answering her unasked question. Yes, Quentin knows. "I wanted to check on him if that's okay."

She still sounds nervous, and Jake's still in shock that people are suddenly asking his permission for matters involving Quentin. It's not right. He shouldn't be in charge. Katie should be in charge, and she's the only one that should be giving permission for anything involving Quentin. But she's not here, so now people are asking him. And he doesn't know how to feel about that.

He nods, though, mostly because he doesn't have the strength to do anything else. "Yeah…" It's all he can mutter, and Helen looks at him with something between sadness and pity before she nods her own head and disappears down the hallway.

He's glad to be left alone.

… … …

He's watched her sleep more times than he's willing to admit.

He hasn't slept more than a couple of hours at a time ever since the cordon went up, but he has spent an obscene amount of time watching her sleep. It sounds creepy, and maybe it is, but he doesn't care. It never gets fully dark in their room because the hall lights are always on. He thought it would bother him at first, but once he realized he couldn't sleep there anyway, he started to appreciate the constant soft light, even at night.

It only took a few days before their cots ended up next to each other. Most of the kids were gone, and the few that were left had commandeered a corner where they could joke and play and whisper about stuff that grownups definitely weren't supposed to hear or know about. Little did they know, the grownups were more than happy to give them their space because it allowed for some (very slight) peace and quiet.

To be fair, four to six feet went out the window pretty quickly. A couple of feet was more than enough to give them space and allow for their own whispering. They spent every night like that. Katie would half-heartedly yell at the kids to be quiet and go to sleep every few minutes and then turn right back to whatever quiet conversation they were having at the moment. Most of the conversations weren't that serious. They joked around a lot, teasing and perfecting the art of playful flirting. Occasionally, they would turn more serious, though, especially if either of them had had a particularly rough day. But that was the thing. It wouldn't matter _how_ rough or terrible his day had been… Coming back and getting to lie down with her and just _talk_ could always make him feel better.

Eventually, the kids would fall asleep, and Katie would, too. That's when he would just spend hours watching her and memorizing how her eyelashes looked against her cheeks. She always looked so calm and so peaceful, and he could just get lost in it. Those were the moments when being inside the cordon didn't seem like some horrible prison sentence. It didn't really seem that bad at all because he could just clear his mind and focus on something beautiful.

He's pretty sure he started falling in love with her like that. It didn't take long at all before he moved from just watching her to letting his mind wander. He would think about a future when there wasn't forced space between them, where they aren't confined to two separate cots with a handful of eleven year old kids sleeping a few feet away. He could think about what it would be like to _really_ sleep next to her, when he could touch her and play with her hair and actually wake up beside her.

He should have known better.

Nothing in his life ever works out the way he plans. He rarely makes plans in his life because they never end up happening the way he wants them to. So he should have known better than to let himself fantasize about some hypothetical future that was always going to be far too good for him. But he was stupid, and he let his imagination get away from him. And now here he is…

She just looks like she's asleep.

He's cleaned her up, washed all of the blood off of her face and put a clean shirt on her. And now he's just staring at her like he's done so many times before, and she just looks like she's sleeping. Her skin's a little off-color, a little more yellow than it should be, and her nose is still red. But other than that, all signs of the virus are gone. She looks calm and peaceful and like she could be dreaming about something beautiful. _She's_ beautiful.

He doesn't cry. He just sits beside her bed and watches her while he runs a finger lightly down her cheek and over her neck like he's wanted to do so many times before. Why didn't he? He can't understand now why he didn't just take all the opportunities that were right there in front of him. This damn virus and all of its warnings and rules and _fuck…_

He should have touched her while he still had the chance.

Why didn't he touch her? Why didn't he kiss her or hug her or even hold her hand? She wasn't sick, he wasn't sick, but they just blindly followed the damn rules. And for what? To lose every opportunity they had? To end like _this_?

"It's not fair." He hears his voice and is surprised that he can even speak. "This isn't fair…"

He runs his hand over her hair, really feeling it for the first time ever. He's smelled it so many times and thought about how soft it must be, and he was right. It feels exactly like he imagined it would, and he closes his eyes for a second as he runs the strands between his fingers. It's something else that he needs to memorize. He needs to memorize all of it.

He won't get another chance.

There are so many things he wants to say to her, and he knows it's dumb because she can't hear him. All those things are just other examples of missed opportunities that he'll never get back.

"You're so beautiful…"

He lifts her hand and slowly brings it to his lips. It's probably not the safest move, but he doesn't care. The virus is supposed to be dead, and he doesn't care about the other risks. He just wants to be with her. He kisses her hand, letting his lips linger against her skin for several long moments.

"You're perfect."

He moves her hand slightly and holds it against his own cheek. His eyes slip shut, and he leans into it, trying to imagine what it would feel like for real. He'll never get the chance to find out.

"I love you." He opens his eyes and brings her hand back to his lips. He tightens his grasp on it a little as the tightness in his chest starts building again. "I love you so much… And I'm so sorry…" He hears his voice break at the same time that the tears come back. "I'm so sorry… Katie…"

His voice sounds as broken as he feels. He should have saved her, protected her, _fixed_ her. And he didn't. He couldn't do any of that, and she's dead. She's dead because he couldn't keep her alive. And now they have nothing. No future. No life together. Nothing.

And he's just so _sorry_.

… … …

He wakes up still holding her hand, and he realizes that, ironically, this is the first night in over two weeks that he's slept more than two hours. He's got one hand still wrapped around hers and the other on her hip, under his head that's resting there. And for the briefest of moments, he doesn't remember right away. For one split second, he feels like he's waking up to a dream instead of a nightmare.

But then he remembers.

He pulls himself back to reality and forces himself to move. He feels tired and empty as he walks back up to the storage wing and heads down the hallway to the makeshift bedroom. He's surprised to see that Quentin actually seems to be sleeping. He doesn't want to wake him up because waking up means facing all of this head on, and he knows how badly that feels. So instead of disturbing him, Jake just sits down on his own cot and stares aimlessly around the room. He doesn't look to the spot beside him where Katie should be. He doesn't look at the small pile of clothes she has stacked beside her cot or at her purse or at the book that's still resting upside down and open to the page she stopped on a few days ago. He doesn't look at any of that because he might be sick if he does.

He watches the clock, and another hour passes before Quentin finally starts waking up. Jake watches him roll over and rub at his eyes and then just lie there for another five minutes before he starts squirming and rubs at his eyes again. He sits up slowly, frowning and looking confused. Jake's usually long gone by the time anyone else wakes up, so he's not used to the rituals, but he watches Quentin this morning and can practically see when the confusion turns to realization. And he knows he remembers.

Quentin doesn't say anything for a few minutes, just sits there and stares across the room at Jake who has no idea what to say or do. So they just both sit there looking at each other until Quentin finally says, "You said you were coming back."

Jake knows what promise he made. Technically, he didn't say _when_ he'd be back, but he doesn't point this out. He knows that he should have come back, but he couldn't. He wasn't in the right place to come back here last night. But he still knows he basically broke his promise.

"I know. I'm sorry." And he is. He just didn't know what else to do.

"You lied." Quentin sounds more resentful than hurt, and Jake just blinks. It shouldn't bother him the way that it does, but he doesn't like that tone. He doesn't like being a liar, either.

He doesn't know what to say, so he just apologizes again. "I'm sorry." It feels like all he's been doing lately, and he's not sure he'll ever be able to stop.

"You don't have to lie." Quentin sounds really uncharacteristically hostile, and it's scary. "You don't have be around me if you don't want to. I know you were only pretending to be nice to me, so my mom would like you."

Jake actually feels like someone slaps him. He opens and closes his mouth several times before he manages to get out a sentence. "Quentin, that is _not_ true. At all."

The glare he gets in response feels like another slap.

"I'm sorry I let you down last night. I should have come back here, and I didn't. But I wasn't _pretending_ to like you. That's not true."

Quentin's glare falters for a second, but then he puts it right back. "I'm not stupid. Every guy who likes my mom acts like he likes me, too. It doesn't make it real."

Jake didn't think he could feel worse, but he does. He feels like crying all over again, which is ridiculous because who cries over an eleven year old hurting their feelings? But damn, it really bothers him. He doesn't want Quentin to be mad at him or hate him or any of that. He doesn't even know how he's supposed to deal with that when Quentin is literally all he has left.

"I want to see her." Quentin still sounds angry, but he also sounds determined, like he's willing to put up a fight if Jake tries to hold him off again.

But he doesn't try that. Instead, he just swallows and nods, trying not to let his own hurt show on his face. "Okay. Yeah, you can see her."

Quentin looks surprised. The glare disappears for a second, and he stands up immediately. He slips his feet into the shoes by his cot and then looks at Jake expectantly. It's not friendly by any means, but it's not as hateful as his previous face.

They don't speak as they walk down to the quarantine wing together. Jake lets them in and then leads the way down the short hallway to the room where Katie still is. It's all cleaned up, and Katie's still lying there on the bed where Jake left her earlier this morning. Quentin stops before they get to the door, and Jake instinctively puts a hand on his shoulder.

"If you don't want to go in, you don't have to."

Quentin shrugs him off, though, and his worried face turns to annoyed. "I said I wanted to."

Jake nods, trying not to be bothered by the snappy tone. Instead, he just uses the access key in his pocket to open the door. He pushes it open and holds it so Quentin can go in. It takes a few seconds of hesitation, but eventually he moves into the room. He glances up at Jake, but all the hostility is gone from his face. He's obviously scared, despite his protests.

"It's fine." Jake nods and forces the most encouraging look he can muster. "I'll wait out here for you."

Quentin blinks and then bites down on his lip and nods. Jake feels terrible, and he feels sick again as he gently lets the door close and leans against it. He doesn't look through the window because it feels like he's intruding. He needs to give them privacy, to give Quentin whatever time he needs to say goodbye.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, but he just waits. He looks around at the other rooms, wondering about the people inside- what their stories are, who they're leaving behind. He hasn't let himself think about those things before. He looks up at the ceiling that was full of stars just a few short hours ago. They're all gone now. Just like everything else. It's all gone.

When he finally feels the door start to move behind him, he straightens up. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for more human contact, even though he still pretty much just wants to curl up into a ball far away from everyone and everything. Quentin comes out of the room, and Jake hates how there's absolutely nothing he can do to make any of it any better. Quentin looks miserable. There are tear streaks across his face, and his eyes look red and hopeless.

He looks up at Jake with the most painful look and just says, "I'm sorry."

Jake shakes his head, refusing to let this happen. He's not going to let anything make Quentin even more upset than he already is. He puts a hand on top of his head and squeezes it a little bit. "You don't have to be sorry."

"This really sucks…" He sounds so young and lost, and it makes Jake feel even worse.

"I know… I know. It really does."

Quentin's eyes fill up again, and then he just wraps both of his arms around Jake's waist and hugs him. Jake hugs him back instinctively, letting the one hand that was already on his head stay there while the other gently rubs his back.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do tomorrow or next week or even in the next five minutes. He just knows that he has to take care of this kid. No matter what. It doesn't matter how the responsibility fell into his lap. This has to be his priority. _Quentin_ has to be his priority. He has to get him out of here. He has to get him away from this hospital and this cordon and this completely living nightmare. He couldn't save Katie, but he can do this.

He _will_ do this.

... ... ...

A/N: I might continue this, so I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own Containment or any of its characters.

He hasn't heard from Lex in days, and from what he can tell, even Dr. Cannerts has been cut off from the outside. The phone line is down, and the Internet connection is gone. They're completely isolated from the rest of society, and panic is starting to set in.

Truthfully, the people inside the cordon have been panicking for awhile, and they have every right to be. Jake hates it, too, but at least he's been privy to _some_ sort of connection and information from the outside. That's gone now, and every hour that passes just seems to make the situation worse. The cordon is falling apart. All the stores and businesses have long since been looted. Violence seems to be the only means of communication on the streets. It won't be long until it's complete anarchy, and Jake has zero control over anything.

He's given up.

He hasn't left the hospital since Katie got sick, and he really doesn't care what's happening outside. He's basically been single-handedly trying to keep some semblance of order, but he doesn't care anymore. He doesn't even feel like a cop anymore, and he's just done. Given up. He can't do anything to help those people or protect them or keep them safe… They're _not_ safe, and he's done trying to pretend otherwise.

He spends two days trying to deal with his own reality. Katie's gone. She's gone, and somehow, he's still here. It's not right, and it's not fair, and he doesn't know how to deal with that. He doesn't even understand how it's possible that _he's_ the one who's been leaving the hospital regularly, constantly coming into contact with infected people, handling their bodies and their belongings… And _she's_ the one who's gone. He should have been dead weeks ago, and he knows it. He can't even begin to comprehend why he's not.

He _feels_ dead inside. Every second of every day feels like he's just going through the motions of a person who's still alive. Katie was the only good thing in this hellhole, and now he just feels like a shell. He knows it's ridiculous, but it's true.

The only thing keeping him from giving up completely is Quentin.

Quentin hasn't left his side, trailing him everywhere from the roof to the bathroom. In any other situation, he might feel smothered, but not now. It doesn't bother him or annoy him. He can watch him better this way, make sure he's okay. Whatever okay is these days…

He knows how important this is. He made a promise to Katie, and he has to keep that promise no matter what. She trusted him. She trusted him with the most precious thing in her life, and he can't let her down. He has no idea what he's supposed to be doing or how he's supposed to make anything happen, but he knows that he has to.

At first, he just focuses on the small things. He tries to do all the little things he saw her doing, tries to mimic them even though he knows he's a poor imitation. But he goes through the mental checklist in his mind and tries to do all the _adult_ things that need to be done. He makes sure Quentin eats enough- or at least eats _something_. The kid barely has an appetite, and Jake isn't surprised and can't blame him. Still, he's tiny to begin with and seems to be getting smaller all the time. He has to eat, so Jake makes sure he gets something in his stomach. He takes over the laundry, washing what little clothes they have and hanging them up to dry. He makes sure the other things get taken care- showers, teeth brushing, clean hands… They go to the roof at least twice a day for some sunshine and some fresh air.

They just try to _be_.

Jake tries to make things as normal as possible, even though he knows there's zero about their situation that is normal. They're living in a hospital storage wing in the middle of a deadly virus outbreak. They have no contact with the outside world. They're both trying to deal with the most painful experience of their lives… There's no normal anymore. But Jake still tries because he doesn't know what else to do.

Two days after the worst day of his life, he realizes that he needs to start making moves. Staying here isn't doing anything for them. Every day in this cordon is just another day that they're at risk. There's no end in sight. They can't just wait around for this to be over because it's never going to be over. They're going to die in here unless Jake figures out a way to save them. As much as he wants to just lie down and give up, he can't. He can't because Quentin needs him, and he has to be there.

He hates the way Quentin looks at him when he tells him he has to go out for a little while. It looks like betrayal and hurt and mistrust all in one, and Jake doesn't immediately know how he's supposed to make it better.

"It's only for a little while. An hour maybe. Then I'll be right back, I promise."

Quentin doesn't look like he believes him, and Jake doesn't want to add to the major abandonment issues that he clearly suffers. There's no way he's taking him out, though. It's much safer for him to stay at the hospital, even if that means he's got to be mad at Jake for a little while.

"Do you want me to get Nurse Helen to stay with you while I'm out?" He thinks he's being nice, trying to find him some company… Quentin obviously doesn't agree.

"I don't need a babysitter." He sounds resentful and snappy, and Jake takes in a breath and struggles to keep the frustration off of his face.

"Okay. Well, then you can go hang out with Thomas for a little while. You haven't seen him much lately."

At all. He hasn't seen him at all. He's angry, and he's still aiming that anger at Thomas. The apology Katie forced him into making obviously wasn't very legit on his part because he hasn't been down to see him a single time since then.

"I don't want to hang out with him." Quentin doesn't necessarily sound hostile, but he sounds very firm. Jake sighs a little and tries to reason with him.

"Quentin, you know it's not his fault…"

"So? That doesn't mean I want to hang out with him."

Jake doesn't know what he's supposed to do with that. He's not sure how he feels about forcing people to be nice to each other if they don't want to be. When Quentin first started this, Katie made him apologize, but it obviously didn't mean anything. He's obviously still just as resentful and upset as he was then. The apology did nothing- not for Quentin anyway. And if Jake had to guess, it probably didn't do much for Thomas, either, considering he has to realize it was clearly forced by now. In the end, he decides to just do whatever he has to in order to avoid an argument.

"Fine. I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do."

"I want to go with you."

"You can't." Jake is still struggling to keep the frustration off his face. "But I swear I'll be right back. I just need to go talk to somebody. You can just stay here and hang out until I get back."

"You _just_ said you weren't going to make me do anything I didn't want to do."

Okay. Jake doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He knows Quentin's attitude is the result of a whole lot of bad that's been happening, but he's not used to it. He's seen him push buttons a couple of times, but it's been rare. And anyway, Katie could always shut him down- well, _any_ of the kids really, but especially Quentin- with just a look. But Jake doesn't know that look. He's not capable of that look. And it's not his place anyway. Still…

"You can't go, Quentin." He tries to make his voice firm without showing his irritation. "I'm sorry. You have to stay here."

Quentin looks mad and almost glares at him for a second before he just storms off in a huff. Jake has no idea where he's going, but he doesn't go after him. He can't make him happy right now. Anything he says is just going to lead to an argument, and that's the last thing he wants. He's pretty sure the best thing he can do is to just go on with his plans, let Quentin have some space, and then try to work it out later.

But really, he just doesn't know anything.

… … …

The Fulton Fare Market is pretty much completely picked over. There are a few random items on the shelves and several boxes still left over from the food drop. But other than that, there's not a lot to see.

Or there wouldn't be for normal people anyway. Jake, however, gets to see about five different guns aimed at his face the second he steps through the door.

He already knows the drill. He doesn't even care truthfully. He unloads his gun and drops it onto the counter without even being asked. He's not an idiot. He's well aware of the fact that he's highly outnumbered and that he has no hope of having control over anything that happens here. It's not like it matters anyway.

"I need to talk to Meese."

Trey just looks at him from a few feet away. He seems to consider his words and then says, "You been needing to talk to Meese a lot lately."

Jake fights the urge to do something really dumb. He grits his teeth and just tries to keep his cool. "Where is he?"

"He's out back. If he wants to talk to you."

Trey takes a drink from the bottle in his hand and just raises his eyebrows. Jake rolls his eyes and just pushes past the row of guns still aimed at his face. He's not scared. He doesn't even have anything left to lose at this point.

Meese is on the patio smoking. He's leaning against the wall, and he looks up when Jake comes through the door. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Jake ignores him. "I need to talk to you."

"Did you come to tell me again what a terrible person I am?"

"I'm pretty sure you already know that." Jake crosses his arms when Meese smirks. "But no. I came to ask how you go into the cordon."

Meese rolls his eyes. "I already told you. If you want the evidence, go back for the ashes. You already know why I did it."

"I didn't ask why, I asked how." Jake stares at him expectantly, and Meese seems slightly nervous for a second. " _How_ did you get in?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because if people can get in, then people can get out." He's quickly losing his patience. "And I need to fucking get out."

Meese raises an eyebrow and puts the cigarette to his lips for a pull. "What's wrong? You tired of playing hero?"

"I need to get out." He's grinding his teeth, trying to keep his cool because he's pretty sure exploding won't do him any good.

"Well, you're in luck then. Because I happen to have a way to make that happen."

Jake stares at him. He knows he shouldn't trust anything that's coming out of his mouth and that he has every reason in the world to be suspicious. But he can't just pretend he didn't hear that, either.

"How?"

"You got five grand?"

Jake's hand immediately balls into a fist and he looks up at the sky, ready to scream and just let every bit of pent up anger inside of him come flying out. "Are you _kidding_ me?!"

"Hey. You want out or not?"

"You're an asshole."

Meese just lifts a shoulder and then stamps out the end of his cigarette. "Maybe so, but I'm doing what I got to do to survive. You gonna do what _you_ need to do or what?"

Jake wants to punch him. He wants to punch him until he can't stop punching, until Meese is just a crumbled bloody mess with an unrecognizable face. He knows it would make him feel better, so he can't understand why he's still just standing there.

"I'm trying to get a kid out." He has no idea what he thinks reasoning will accomplish, but he tries it anyway. "His mom died, man. He needs out of this place."

"There're plenty of kids in here who need out. You think everybody in here hasn't lost somebody? Sorry, but a dead mom doesn't exactly make you special in this place."

"Fuck you!" Jake shakes his head. He feels his pulse rate start to speed up, and he knows he's way too close to losing it.

Meese doesn't say anything for a second. He just watches Jake, and then he slowly shakes his head. "Please tell me you didn't go and do some dumb shit like fall in love with somebody in this hellhole…"

Jake doesn't answer. He can't answer. He feels like he might either murder somebody with his bare hands or break down sobbing, and he can't even tell which one. He just stands there, breathing way too heavy and trying to not lose control.

"Jake…" Meese shakes his head again, and then he lets out an almost sympathetic laugh of disbelief. "Man."

"I don't have five thousand dollars." Jake grits the words out, ignoring everything else.

Meese pushes away from the wall and walks over to a bottle of beer that's sitting on the table. "It's five thousand a head. It's ten for you and the kid."

"How the hell do you think I would possibly have ten thousand bucks?! You know _exactly_ how much I make."

Meese shrugs again and takes a drink from the beer. "Sorry, man. It just is what it is."

"You're such an asshole…" Jake still feels like he can't breathe, and he doesn't know how much more he can physically take.

"You know, Jake, I always liked you." Meese sits down on one of the wire chairs and takes another drink. "I always liked how you didn't treat all the petty shit like it was life or death. So many cops have that power trip ego thing where they have to be such hardasses, you know? But that was never you. You didn't try to make all the little stuff into something huge, you never struck me as the type who was trying to prove anything. So how the hell did it work out that _you_ became the savior of the cordon?"

Jake just blinks at him. He doesn't answer. He doesn't _know_ the answer, and he doesn't want to be here anymore.

"They're using you. You know that, right?" Meese sets the beer down and leans back a little. "You're killing yourself in here, and for what? To advance whatever screwed up agenda they're trying to feed the rest of the world? They don't care about you, Jake."

"I'm leaving."

Meese completely ignores him. "Say this actually _does_ end without everyone in here dying. What do you think is gonna happen then? You're not going to get any of the credit. They're going to praise themselves. They're going to praise _Lex_ and all the people who did such a great job making sure that the virus stayed contained… Nobody's even gonna know your name."

"I don't care if anybody knows my name."

"Well, stick around here long enough, and not only is nobody gonna know your name… They're not even gonna know which pile of ashes you are."

"You're going to hell."

Meese takes another drink from his beer and calls after him as he walks away. "Ten grand, Jake."

… … …

He doesn't have ten thousand dollars. At no time in his entire _life_ has he had ten thousand dollars. He doesn't even know what ten thousand dollars looks like.

He empties his wallet when he gets back to the hospital, and there's a total of $43. It's a miracle that he even has that. Normally, he would only have a couple of bucks on him if anything, but he was supposed to go to a Braves game the weekend he got stuck, and he'd happened to grab cash back from the gas station that morning for parking. He's missed two paydays since being in here, so if he could actually find a working ATM, there would probably be close to three grand waiting in his checking account. But he knows that's ridiculous. Every ATM in the cordon has long since been busted and looted, so his debit card is basically useless. And anyway, that's still less than half of what he needs, so what's the point?

Katie's purse is still lying exactly where she left it. He hasn't touched any of her stuff, and he doesn't want to. Disturbing her things feels wrong, and he just wants things to stay exactly like they were the last time she touched them. He knows that's ridiculous, though. They're just items. He's not erasing her memory by touching them or moving them, but his gut still twists at the thought of it. Still, he knows she would tell him to stop being stupid, and she would want him to try every possible way…

It takes ten minutes of just staring before he finally pulls her purse out from its resting space under her cot. He sets it in front of him and just looks at it. As weird as it feels to even _move_ her things, the thought of going through her purse feels like some very deep invasion of privacy. Logically, he knows it's dumb. She's not here, and even if she were, she probably wouldn't care. Especially in this situation. She would want him to at least _try._

He swallows a lump in his throat as he unsnaps the top and looks down. He's never understood women and purses and why they think they need so much _stuff._ His hands are shaking a little bit as he pulls each item out individually.

A hairbrush. Mascara. A notebook. _Four_ pens. A compact. Dental floss. Her keys. A bottle of Tylenol. A bottle of _Children's_ Tylenol. An empty pack of gum. A ton of random receipts. Three hair ties. A mostly empty prescription bottle. Sunglasses. Hand sanitizer. A pair of _kid's_ sunglasses. Chapstick. Another chapstick. Lipgloss. A travel sized bottle of sunscreen…

Finally, he gets to the last two items. Her cell phone- the battery long dead and completely useless in here. And her wallet. He drops the phone onto the cot with the rest of her things and holds his breath for a second before unzipping the wallet. He says a silent prayer that she somehow has thousands of dollars just waiting to be found.

She doesn't. Her wallet is full of even more receipts, a handful of credit cards, and a grand total of $14.29.

He's not surprised. He doesn't even feel disappointment because he shouldn't have expected anything different. He knows enough about her financial situation to know that it's not great, and even if it were, nobody has that much cash on them. This is ridiculous. Why is he even trying?

He gets distracted by her driver's license, and he slips it out of its plastic compartment. He hasn't seen her face in two days, and even a crappy DMV picture is enough to make his eyes start to water. He stares at her face and the clearly fake smile on it. He looks at her name- _Katharine Michelle Frank_. He thinks about the _real_ smile on her face when she laughed and told him how the only people in her entire life who had ever called her Katharine were a sixth grade teacher who refused to honor nicknames and a great-aunt who could never really remember her name and alternated between calling her Katharine and Kathleen. Any other time she heard the name Katharine, she said she knew she must have really been in trouble. He sympathized completely with that, having the exact same experience growing up and hearing his own full name being called. Both being victim to it, they agreed that people should just name their kids whatever they intended to call them because shortened names and nicknames were really a lot more trouble and confusion than they were worth.

He can't really imagine her as a Katharine. She doesn't feel like a Katharine any more than he feels like a Jacob. Katharines are supposed to be elegant and serious- not like Katie who once ate a four pound burrito just to get a free t-shirt or who wasn't afraid to speak up and say whatever was on her mind at any given moment. He realizes that he's never even seen her signature, and his eyes trace over the letters individually. Katie M Frank. Katie.

She's a Katie.

He doesn't even notice that he's no longer alone until he hears a voice. "What are you doing?"

He looks up and quickly blinks away the tears that are stubbornly stinging his eyes. Quentin is standing across from him looking down at the contents of his mom's purse that are now spread all over the cot. Jake hasn't seen him since he's been back, and he has no idea if he's still on the shit list or not. He slips the license back into the wallet and clears his throat.

"Your mom wanted me to get you out of here."

Quentin doesn't say anything. He just lifts his eyes and looks at Jake like he's still waiting for the explanation as to why Jake is ransacking his mom's personal belongings.

"There's a guy…" Jake doesn't know how to explain it. "He says he can help us get out, but it costs a lot of money. And I don't have enough."

"There's money in the zipper part." Quentin blinks, and his voice doesn't sound remotely hostile or combative. "She always keeps it there for emergencies." He moves until he's right in front of Jake and then leans over and unzips a tiny pocket inside the purse. A second later, he hands Jake a hundred dollar bill.

Jake looks at the money in his hand and swallows. "Thanks." He nods and tries to give Quentin a smile. "It's still not enough, but I'll figure it, okay? I promise."

Quentin nods, but he still seems nervous and tiny.

"But hey, you can't tell anybody, okay? Don't tell Dr. Cannerts or Nurse Helen or Thomas or anybody. I'll figure it out, but nobody can know we're going. It has to be our secret, okay?"

Quentin nods again, and Jake watches as he still eyes the items on the cot. He feels his throat tighten significantly, though, when Quentin reaches for the brush and slowly runs his thumb across the hair that's twisted around the bristles.

"Everything's going to be okay." Jake feels like he's saying it as much for his own benefit as he is for Quentin's. "I promised your mom that I'd find a way to get you out, and I will."

Quentin doesn't look up from the brush, but he gives a single nod.

"You hungry?" He still doesn't get a verbal response, but Quentin shakes his head. "Me, either, but we need to eat, okay? Let's put this stuff up."

He starts putting everything back into the purse, and Quentin eventually hands over the hairbrush. It takes everything on Jake's part not to follow suit and touch the hair there. He doesn't, though, because he's not sure he could trust himself not to fall apart. Quentin grabs for a chapstick before it goes back in and picks it up.

"This is mine. Can I have it?"

Jake doesn't point out that it's _all_ his. He just nods and says, "Sure," because he doesn't know what else to say. Quentin drops the chapstick into his pocket and then helps pack the rest of the items back into their original resting place. Soon, all that's left on the cot is a small stack of cash, which Quentin starts organizing and counting.

A hundred dollar bill, two twenties, a ten, seven ones, two dimes, and nine pennies.

"We have $157.29," he announces after counting twice. "Is that almost enough?"

Not even close, but Jake just nods anyway. "Yeah. Yeah… Almost."

… … …

He knows every inch of the cordon. He also has the advantage of having firsthand knowledge about the barrier and all the possible breaks in it. With no other option, he grabs some paper and starts working things out. There are two sluices- the main one and the one that was created to smuggle Thomas out. He's pretty sure that both are being watched, but the main sluice probably has a lot more eyes on it. The last time he checked, there were snipers all over the place there, but with no connection to the outside, he has no idea what's in place now. The only other option is the alternate sluice, but even if- and it's a big _if_ \- he was able to make it in unnoticed, there's no way he can make it out.

Quentin shows up and sits down beside him. He doesn't say anything for awhile, just watches while Jake scribbles and marks out and erases and scribbles again. There's no way he's ever going to find ten thousand dollars, so he's going to have to make his own plan of escape. There _has_ to be a way. He just has to find it.

"What do you think will happen to Thomas after we leave?" Quentin finally speaks up. It interrupts Jake's thought process, but he isn't annoyed. Instead, he just stops what he's doing and looks up.

"I guess Dr. Cannerts will keep looking for a cure, and hopefully Thomas will help him find one."

"But he doesn't have any family. Who's supposed to take care of him?"

Jake's a little surprised, considering the fact that Quentin has purposely been distancing himself from Thomas the last few days. It's nice to see that even if he's upset or angry, he's still got enough compassion in him to be concerned about him.

"Well, they'll take care of him while he's here, the doctors and nurses. And I'm sure he's got some family on the outside who will take care of him when all this is over." He says when on purpose because he can't let on that _if_ is actually the more appropriate word.

"Like me." It's a statement, not a question. "My grandparents have to take care of me, don't they?"

Jake chews on the inside of his cheek for a second. "Yeah. Yeah… I guess."

Quentin glances at the ground, and Jake doesn't miss the frown on his face. He's quiet for a second, and then he finally looks back up. "Who took care of you when your mom died?"

"Uh, my dad." Jake swallows, trying to keep his voice and his face neutral. He doesn't go into the details about the fact that his dad spent more time drinking than he ever did parenting. He's not sure it's relevant right now, and he really doesn't want to think about it.

"I have a dad."

Jake blinks, unsure why the statement hits him so hard. "I know."

"But he never really wants to see me a lot or anything."

The logical part of Jake's brain says that he should deny this and give some spiel on how it's not that his dad doesn't _want_ to see him, it's just that he's sick and he needs to get help and a bunch of other bullshit that is probably supposed to placate a kid and make him feel better. But even though Jake's not much on logic these days, the things he _really_ wants to say about Quentin's dad are probably just better left unsaid. He doesn't know the guy and hopefully will never meet the guy because he's pretty sure it wouldn't end well. He can't imagine what kind of asshole would give up _this_ girl and _this_ kid. He doesn't care if he's on drugs or what the reasons are… He has no sympathy for the guy. If Jake had the chance… He would _never_ give them up. For anything.

But he doesn't have that chance.

He can't help himself. He can't be fake, and he doesn't even regret it when he hears himself being honest. "Your dad's a fucking idiot." Quentin's eyes get a little wider, but he doesn't say anything. "Seriously, dude. It's his loss."

Quentin doesn't say anything for a second, but then he nods a couple of times and even cracks a little smile. Jake watches it, and even though he knows he's probably not supposed to do things like tell an eleven year old kid that his dad is a _fucking idiot_ , he smiles, too. And then he even laughs for a second. It feels nice.

Quentin leans back over the table and looks at the drawing again. "Too bad we can't dig a tunnel and escape."

Jake starts to agree that yeah, it's too bad this isn't a comic strip where people can just tunnel their way out of prison… But then he stops himself. It's true that they can't actually _dig_ a tunnel, but that doesn't mean they can't go underground.

"Quentin, you are the smartest kid I know."

He grabs the pen and gets to work on a plan. There might be a way after all.

...

A/N: Thank you for the notes on the last chapter. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Thank you for the notes on the last chapter. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story! Thank you for the notes on the last chapter. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story! Thank you for the notes on the last chapter. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story! 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I do not own Containment or any of its characters...

...

He's had their stuff ready to go for three days- he's just been waiting on the right time to make the move.

It happens on a Thursday. Quentin's asleep, and Jake's just awake watching him and thinking. He's not sure he'll ever be able to sleep normally again after all this. He's constantly exhausted, but he just can't force himself to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. He feels like he has to be on constant high alert because anything could go terribly wrong at any given second. For once, though, something goes right.

He hears the thunder before anything else. It's been pretty cloudy all day, but other than a few sprinkles that afternoon, that's been the extent of it. The thunder echoes through the room, though, and he immediately sits up to make sure he's not just imagining it. It takes a second, but then he hears the rain start to splatter against the windows. By the time he gets up and goes to investigate, it's pouring down.

He doesn't waste another second. He quickly goes over to the bags he has packed and hidden out of the way and dumps a few more things in, and then he moves over to where Quentin is still asleep.

"Quentin." He whispers his name and shakes him a little, glancing behind him to make sure nobody's around. They're alone, of course, but he's still paranoid. "Buddy, wake up. We gotta go."

Quentin squirms and even whines a little before he scrunches his face and opens one eye to look at Jake in confusion.

"Come on." He keeps his voice quiet. "It's time to go. Get up."

"It's the middle of the night…" Quentin's words are a little slurred with sleepiness, but Jake understands him.

"I know. But we have to go now. Come on."

Quentin grumbles something, but he eventually sits up. That's as far as he gets, though, and he just sits there with his eyes still half-closed. Jake grabs his sweatshirt and pulls it over Quentin's head. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but he manages to get his arms through the arm holes and his head through the neck hole. It's a pretty good accomplishment, considering the fact that Quentin may actually have fallen right back to sleep sitting up- he definitely doesn't do anything to help. Jake then goes to work on shoes, shoving Quentin's feet into sneakers and double knotting them. He gets no help with that, either. In fact, as soon as he ties the final knot, Quentin just falls backward against the cot and doesn't move.

"No, no, no." Jake grabs the front of his sweatshirt and tugs until he's in a sitting position again. "Quentin, come on. You gotta wake up, buddy."

He eventually gets some fluttering eyelids and a frown. Quentin still doesn't give any indication that he's actually ready to _move_ , though.

"I know you're tired. But you gotta wake up. We need to go right now, so come on." Jake takes him by the shoulders and pulls him into a standing position. He seems to be awake but still in that hazy realm of confusion and tiredness. "Here you go." Jake takes a backpack and slips it over both of Quentin's shoulders, and then he takes a scarf and wraps it around the lower half of his face to cover his nose and mouth. He checks to make sure that Quentin's already wearing gloves and then pulls his hood up. "It's raining, so keep this up."

Quentin actually nods and reaches up to adjust the straps of the backpack. Jake takes that as a sign that he's waking up a little. He then takes a scarf and gives his own head the same treatment. He doesn't have a hood, and he can't risk the riot helmet or anything, so he's just going to have to deal with the rain. It's fine, though. He doesn't care. He grabs the other bag and slings it over his shoulder before finally double-checking that his gun is tucked securely in the back of his pants.

And then, just like that, they're set.

"You ready?"

Quentin's eyes look nervous, but he nods anyway. He glances around the room, and Jake knows what he's thinking because he's thinking it, too. They have to get away from here, but this was the last place they saw Katie. It almost feels like they're leaving her behind, and Jake's stomach twists at the thought.

"This is what she would want." He tries to answer Quentin's unmentioned concern. "I know it sucks."

Quentin looks back at Jake, and even though he can only see half his face, he knows there's sadness there. Jake feels it, too, but he's right. Katie would want them to go.

This _is_ what she wanted.

Jake goes first, glancing down the hallway to make sure nobody's around. They aren't, of course. They're the only ones left on this wing, and people don't tend to hang around here randomly. Still, they can't risk anyone seeing them. Even though there's nobody here who could or even _would_ try to stop them, the less people who know that they're trying to get out, the better.

They take the stairs down to the ground floor because there's no telling who they might run into on the elevator. The chances of going unnoticed are much better in the stairwell, and they make it all the way down to the first floor easily. Somehow, miraculously, there's nobody in the lobby, either, and Jake says a silent thanks to whoever might be listening when they make it outside with no interruptions.

It's pouring rain and thundering, and Jake knows it's going to suck. Quentin already looks leery of escaping during a rainstorm, but this is really the ideal scenario.

"We'll go fast, okay?" He grabs Quentin's hand and grips it tightly. "Just keep up."

They take off running. Jake tries to be mindful of little legs, but Quentin actually does a really decent job of keeping pace. There aren't that many people around, which isn't surprising given the hour and the current weather. They pass a few random people, but nobody really pays them much attention. They don't stop until they get to an underpass near the edge of the barrier. Jake can barely see through all the rain covering his face and dripping from his hair, but he uses the break to try to get some of the water out of his eyes. Quentin looks out of breath and tired, but he also seems wide awake. He looks at Jake expectantly while they both try to catch their breath.

"What now?"

Jake looks to the barrier. He only sees two guys, and they both look like APD. He can't make out their faces from where he is, but based on their uniforms, they don't seem to be National Guard. They're both wearing ponchos and ducking their heads, and he's pretty sure they're both more preoccupied with complaining to each other than they are with anything going on on the ground.

"You see that red container down there?" Jake points, and Quentin nods. "There's a door cut out of it. We're going in there."

Quentin looks confused. "If there's a door, why don't other people just go through it?"

"It's locked."

"You have a key?"

Jake reaches into his pocket and pulls out the padlock key, and Quentin's confused look turns to impressed. "We gotta be careful, though. Nobody can see us, especially not those guys up there."

Quentin follows his gaze to where the lookouts are. "Aren't they just cops? Don't you know them?" He's practically having to yell over the rain, but Jake's not worried about anyone hearing.

"Maybe. It doesn't matter, though. They won't let us through, so we have to make sure they don't see."

Quentin nods, and Jake tries to swallow his nerves away. Now that it's happening, he realizes just how much is at stake and just how risky all of this is.

"I'm going first to unlock the door. You stay here until you see me wave, okay?" Quentin nods again, hanging on to every instruction. "If something happens, you stay here, okay? Don't let anybody see you. If I get caught, I'll have to make up a reason for going in there, but nobody can know you're here. So just stay here until I come back. But if everything's fine, I'll wave, and you run as fast as you can over to the door, okay?"

"Everything _will_ be fine, right?" Quentin looks nervous, and Jake nods, even though he has no idea.

"Yeah. Yeah, it should. But just in case, remember what I said." He looks back over toward the cops. They're really not paying much attention at all, and he knows he has to go while he has the chance. "Don't be scared, okay? You got this." He squeezes Quentin's shoulder for support and then takes one last survey of the situation.

He feels like his lungs are going to explode by the time he makes it to the sluice door. His hands are shaking, but he manages to get the key into the deadbolt and get it off. He keeps glancing up to the lookouts, but they're not even looking his way. Within seconds, he's got the lock off and has pulled the door open. Without wasting any time, he immediately waves the go ahead, and Quentin sprints across the street and over to him safely. He grabs Quentin, yanks him inside, and immediately closes the door. He can't lock it from the outside, so he's going to have to bolt it from the inside. He slips the lock over the latch and secures it, and just like that, they're in.

He lets out the hugest breath of his life.

He flicks on his flashlight and immediately unwraps the scarf from around his face because he feels like he's being suffocated. Quentin sees him and follows suit, and all the nervousness has disappeared from Quentin's face. He actually looks excited, probably because he doesn't realize everything they're risking.

"What now?!"

Jake bends down to the bag he dropped on the floor and unzips it. He takes out a t-shirt and immediately dries his face off before he throws it to Quentin to do the same. Then he pulls out a couple of other shirts and stands back up. He pulls off the soaked through shirt he's wearing and slips a dry one over his head, and then he tosses the other one to Quentin.

"Put this on, and lay that sweatshirt out so it can dry a little bit."

Quentin does as he's told, and Jake starts laying out the other wet shirts. He's super thankful for the storm and the rain, but that doesn't mean it's comfortable by any means. He glances around the sluice and sees a bucket, a half-empty bottle of water, and a couple of food wrappers. He realizes it must all be left over from when Lex and Lommers were quarantined in here. That's good- it means that no one's been in or out since, and no one should have any reason to be in or out anytime soon. That's a good thing.

"What's _that_?" Quentin's eyes go to about twice their normal size when Jake pulls out one of the heavier items in his bag.

Jake shushes him instinctively, even though he realizes how ironic that is given the fact that he's holding a power saw. He found it in the trauma unit of the hospital, and he doesn't even want to think about what its real purpose is supposed to be. Obviously he would like to have a quieter option, but this will be quicker and easier. He just has to pray that the storm keeps up long enough.

"You need to keep back." Jake glances once more at the padlocked door.

"What are you going to do?"

"We can't just go out the other side." He swings his head to the door on the other side of the sluice. "So we're going to have to go through some of the other containers. I need to go fast, though, because if the rain stops, people will be able to hear."

Quentin seems to comprehend the plan, and he nods, his face slightly more serious now. He does as he's told and steps over to the corner to be out of the way. Jake turns on the saw and immediately winces at the noise when the blade hits the metal of the wall. It sounds super loud, echoing throughout the shipping container, but he just holds his breath and hopes that it's muffled enough by the storm to keep people from noticing.

It's easier than he thought it would be, and it really only takes a couple of minutes to cut a hole bit enough to slip through. Of course, then he has to cut a hole in the wall of the next container, too, but once he gets a handle on what he's doing, it's really not that hard.

"You wait here." He looks back at Quentin who nods and slides down to sit on the floor. He looks a lot more nervous now than he did a few minutes ago, and he pulls his knees up to his chest.

Jake slips into the next container and repeats the process, cutting another hole to continue the passage. He keeps going, counting the containers as he goes and hoping that all of his map making estimates are close enough to accurate. When he makes it into the sixth container, he changes directions and starts cutting at the floor of the container instead of the wall. If he's worked everything out correctly, he has to be close. He makes several cuts, shining a flashlight through the holes every few minutes to see if he can get a better idea of where he's at and if he's actually on the right track. Finally, though, he sees metal underneath instead of just concrete.

Finally.

It only takes a few minutes to make a big enough hole, and then he's done. He turns the saw off and listens carefully to make sure he doesn't hear any other noise besides the rain. It seems even heavier now, and a loud crack of thunder makes him jump. Good. It's done, so now it's just a waiting game.

He makes his way back through the containers and finds Quentin still sitting in the corner. It's pitch black, but he's being super brave and calm. He looks up when Jake shines the light toward him.

"You okay?"

Quentin nods, and Jake moves over and sits down beside him. "Did you find a way out?"

"Yeah." Jake flips the flashlight off, knowing they need to save the batteries. They're immediately swarmed in darkness again. "Yeah, but now we have to wait."

"For what?" Quentin's voice sounds scared again, and Jake feels bad. He's scared himself, so he can't imagine what it must be like for a kid who actually doesn't know what all is going on.

"We need to make sure we're not sick before we go out. Just in case. So we need to… like self-quarantine ourselves, I guess."

"For how long?"

"Forty-eight hours." It sounds like a ridiculously long length of time, and Jake's already dreading it. He's pretty sure he could go crazy in here before that time is up. Still, he can't let on that it's a big deal.

"But we can at least stay together, right?" Quentin still sounds really uneasy, and Jake feels him scoot a little closer. Instinctively, he wraps an arm around him and pulls him in.

"Yeah. We can stay together." He can feel Quentin relax a tiny bit as he settles into Jake's side. "Why don't you try to get some more sleep?"

Quentin doesn't answer, but Jake can feel him nod. He closes his own eyes, doubting very seriously that he'll actually get any sleep but also unwilling to keep them open in the pitch black. He keeps his arm around Quentin and listens to the rain. He can't hear anything else, and that coupled with the total darkness makes for a really odd sensation.

He thinks about Katie. He always thinks about her. He hopes he's doing the right thing and that she would be okay with all of this. His chest feels tight as he imagines her. It's been a few days, but it's not getting any easier- if anything, it might be getting even harder. He constantly feels like he's on the verge of tears, every second of every day. He forces himself to hold it together because he has no other choice, but he has honestly never felt this bad in his entire life. He feels _broken_ inside. And he just can't make any sense of it.

He has no idea why the universe would put her in front of him just to rip her away like that. Before they had _any_ chance. It all still feels like such a whirl. He's never been in love, didn't even really think he was _capable_ of being in love… And then Katie happened, and every single day just felt like he was diving further and further into some pit of the unknown. He fell _so_ hard and _so_ fast, and then…

And then it was all gone just as fast.

He drops his head back against the wall and stretches his legs out in front of him. He tries to make sense of it, but it's pointless. It's pointless because nothing can come of it now. Why didn't he do this earlier? Why didn't he figure out a way to break them out before she got sick and before any hope of a future was ripped away from them? They could be so far away from all this. She could be sleeping in his arms right now, and he could have his face buried in her hair and could be feeling her chest rise and fall steadily under his fingers. It's not fair. None of it's fair. All those nights he's spent with all those girls in his bed… and he would trade every single one of them for just one night of getting to hold her while she slept. But he never got that chance. And he never will.

It's not fair.

… … …

He's surprised when he wakes up, mostly because it means he's fallen asleep in the first place. He's also surprised to find the blackness replaced by a dim light shining through the cracks of container. The sun's up, and the rain is gone. He listens for noise, but all he doesn't hear anything. He glances at his watch and sees that it's only 6:45. It's early.

Sometime during the night, Quentin must have transitioned into a horizontal position because he's lying on his side with his legs curled up in front of him and his head in Jake's lap. Jake's hand is still on his shoulder, and Quentin actually seems to be sleeping pretty well. Jake doesn't want to wake him up because he knows he needs rest. Besides, there's nothing for him to do except spend the next 45 hours looking at the walls of this storage container.

Jake moves his hand from Quentin's shoulder onto his head. He brushes the hair away from his forehead and out of his eyes. It's on the long side, and he probably needs a haircut. Jake looks down at him and really can't believe how tiny he is. Sometimes Quentin seems a lot older when he talks, and it's easy to forget he's only eleven. But then looking at him, he's really just a little kid.

Jake can't imagine going through all of this as a kid. The losing a mom part- yeah, he can put himself in those shoes- but not like this and definitely not under these circumstances. He'll be thirty years old in a couple of months, and he's not sure he's ever going to get over these last few weeks. He's seen way more than he ever wanted to, even as a cop. He's pretty sure that even removing Kate from the equation, he's still going to be fucked up for life because of this stuff. So really, what's it going to be like for the kids who were forced into this situation? This is literally the stuff of nightmares, and he just can't imagine.

It's weird to think about because most of them really just seem like a (not so) distant memory, but none of Katie's kids actually got out. They're all still locked in the cordon somewhere. Or at least they were. He's not sure how many, if any, are actually left. Then there's Brittany and Ray, and really, Jake hopes he never sees that asshole again because he's not sure he could walk away without murdering him. If he hadn't taken the kids, Katie wouldn't have gotten sick. Even if Mary had been sick, they could have realized it and sent her to quarantine before she had a chance to infect anyone. Katie wouldn't have been playing hero, and she wouldn't have gotten sick. And she'd still _be here._ It's petty, but Jake needs someone to blame. Ray seems like a good place to start.

It's easier than blaming himself.

He knows it's ridiculous, though. He's going to blame himself for the rest of his life, and there's no way he's ever going to come to peace with it. He should have been able to protect her. Protecting people is literally his _job_ , and if he should have been able to protect anyone, it should have been _her_. He just wants a do over. Even if they're not supposed to be together, he just wants a do over so he can switch places with her. He would give anything in the world to take her place, to go back and be the one who grabbed Mary from that van and ended up infected. He'd do anything to trade places with her. It should have been him anyway. He's the one who signed up for all this life-threatening shit. Obviously he never actually envisioned _this_ when he got the bright idea to apply to the police academy, but he knew what he was getting into. Even with all of this, he knew it was dead hero's territory from the second the first 48 hour quarantine got extended, and he's known it every day since then. And he's just gone along with it because that's his job and because above all else, he has a duty to protect his city and its people.

But Katie didn't sign up for that. She's a teacher. Teachers shouldn't have to play hero- they shouldn't be put in the _situation_ where they have to play hero. He knows that sometimes they get forced into those situations, but that doesn't mean it's right or okay. They shouldn't have to be responsible for saving people's lives or rescuing them or putting their own lives on the line to protect their students. It just shouldn't happen, and it shouldn't have happened to Katie.

It should have been him.

He would trade placed with her in a heartbeat. He's never been afraid of death, probably because he's never felt like he's had that much to lose. Katie has stuff to lose. She has _Quentin_ , and she didn't deserve any of this. If one of them had to die, it should have been him. If he were to die, he'd leave behind some friends- that's it. They would be sad for a few days, but then they'd move on with their lives. He's not close to his family, and he's sure most of them probably wouldn't even care. He's willing to bet money that his dad hasn't even tried to find out where he is or if he's okay during all of this. His dad doesn't care, has never really cared and will probably _never_ care. Jake doesn't have any siblings, only has one grandparent still alive, and probably hasn't spoken to any of his aunts or uncles in a decade or more. There are a couple of cousins he's in very distant contact with, but outside of Facebook, he can't even remember the last time he talked to any of them. So that's it. He has nothing and no one, and if anyone should have died in this stupid fucking cordon, it should have been _him_.

He drops his head back against the wall and tries really hard to stop the tears that are constantly on the verge of falling. He keeps one hand on Quentin's head and uses the other to rub at his own eyes. He has to keep it together. He has to keep reminding himself over and over.

He just has to keep it together.

… … …

It's crazy how slowly an hour can pass when you're literally stuck in a box.

And then it's not just that hour, it's the one after it and the one after that and the one after _that_ … Jake's getting restless, and Quentin's suddenly turned whining into an art form. It's new- at least with Jake. Usually, he's a pretty laid back kid, but Jake _has_ seen him get whiney a few times, usually when he's really tired or one spectacular time when he was being _super_ mouthy, got called out on it, and then seemingly flipped a switch, immediately turned on some tears, and tried to whine his way out of trouble.

It didn't work.

Katie was good at ignoring whining. She could ignore all of the kids when they started it- just flat out pretend that they didn't exist. It was actually pretty funny. He said something about it once when she was completely ignoring a tattle-filled whiney argument between Quentin and Mary over whose turn it was to empty the trash. Katie just shook her head. _"I don't hear them. I just choose not to hear them. Because if I hear them, I might kill them. And I don't want you to be forced to arrest me."_

Jake, however, is not used to whining. Until very recently, he was never around any kids. And the kids that he _has_ been around recently have pretty much saved the whining for their mom and their teacher. He's witnessed it and almost been amused by it, but when it's actually aimed at him, it's really not all that funny.

Quentin is hot. _Sweating to death_ even. Jake will admit that it's pretty warm- they are, after all, stuck in a hot metal box with basically zero fresh air and no way to cool down. It's not the ideal situation, but it is what it is. Quentin, though, is _dying_. The amount of annoyed huffs and dramatic groans he can get through in sixty seconds is actually pretty impressive. It's not just the heat, though. He's also _hungry_. Jake's all but had to force feed the kid over the past few days, but suddenly he's starving. Normally, the return of an appetite would be a good thing, but considering there was only room to pack so much, the rations are not all that great. Jake doesn't even fight him on it, though, and just lets him eat whatever he wants. Skipping his own meals will be a hell of a lot easier than arguing.

There's not much to do, and it gets to a point where Jake just cannot handle anymore Go Fish. Quentin's not even into it, he keeps acting like it's a chore every time he has to ask a question. After the 451st round, Jake can no longer take it.

"Wanna learn how to play poker?" Quentin just looks at him. He'll take that as a yes. "Good."

It turns out that teaching a kid what's considered to be a relatively _adult_ game is a decent way to stop whining in its tracks. Quentin seems to forget all about the heat and the lack of food and everything else, and he starts hanging on to every word as Jake explains all the different hands and the drawing rules.

Jake shuffles the deck and nods at Quentin's backpack. "Grab the peanuts." Quentin does as instructed, pulling out one of the few items they still had rationed from the vending machine raids. "Now, since we don't have poker chips, we're gonna have to improvise." Jake sets the cards down and then divides up the peanuts.

The first round is just for practice. Jake deals them some Texas Hold'em, and he walks Quentin through the process of betting and antes. "The most important thing to remember is your poker face. You can't let the other players know if your hand sucks or if it's great, so you have to keep your face as blank as possible. Either that, or you have to make them think it's really good or really bad even if it's the opposite."

"So you have to lie."

"It's poker." Jake glances at his own cards and then at the cards face up on the ground. "The whole point is to never show them your hand until the absolute last possible second."

Quentin looks confused, but he listens to Jake's advice and eventually turns his hand over to reveal a pair of Jacks. Not the best hand in the world, but he could do worse. Jake reveals his own hand- three 7s- and then scoops up the peanuts from the pot.

"You're supposed to let me win. I'm a kid."

Jake looks at him and then immediately laughs in disbelief. "No way, bud. Not happening with me."

Quentin narrows his eyes, but he smiles a little, too. Then he hands his cards over and says, "Deal again."

They play hand after hand. Jake wins the majority of the rounds, but Quentin starts getting a grasp on it. His poker face kind of sucks, though, and Jake can totally tell every time he's got a good hand. He calls him on it, suddenly very determined to turn this kid into a world class poker player. They don't have anything else to do, so he might as well start training him early.

It starts getting dark again before they know it.

Jake turns the flashlight on for a little while, but he kills it pretty quickly. He knows they're going to be seriously screwed if it dies while they're underground, and he also doesn't want to take any chances of the light seeping through the cracks of the container and drawing attention. Quentin's out of the whining mood, but Jake can easily sense that his anxiety starts creeping up once they're mostly shrouded in darkness.

"Are you tired?" He lights up his watch and checks the time. It's barely 9 o'clock, so he's guessing the answer is no.

Quentin's a few feet away, pulling his sweatshirt on, obviously no longer sweating to death. Jake can barely make him out, but he sees him digging through his backpack for something. "I'm not sleepy."

Jake's tired, but he knows he won't be sleeping any time soon. He watches as Quentin gives up on whatever he's looking for and comes back over to sit down beside him. They don't say anything for a few minutes, just both sit there seemingly lost in their own thoughts. It's Quentin who finally breaks the silence, though, and he sounds a little shaky.

"Do you think we're really going to make it out?"

Jake doesn't know the answer to that question, not really. He's confident that he's planned it the best that he possibly could, but it's all been based on a lot of guess work and what could be faulty memories. He honestly has no idea if it will work, but it's the best shot that they have. He's not sure they'll get another chance like this, so they have to take it.

"I hope so." It's the most honest answer he has. He's not going to make any promises because he can't guarantee that any of this will work.

"Do you think this is what my mom would want?"

Jake's eyes slip shut, and he tries to breathe away some of the pain he feels at every mention of Katie. He swallows and then nods even though he knows Quentin probably can't see him. "I think so. She wanted you to get out."

There's silence for a few moments, and when Quentin speaks, he sounds unbelievably younger. "I think my mom was in love with you…" Jake opens his eyes and immediately feels a tear slide down his cheek. He's suddenly very thankful for the darkness. "I never saw her smile like that before. I think you made her feel happy."

Jake can't answer. If he tries to say anything right now, he's going to break down. He knows he can't do that, so he just holds his breath and tries to will the tears in his eyes to disappear. He feels Quentin shifting around beside him, either incredibly uncomfortable or just really nervous. When he finally speaks again, he _sounds_ nervous.

"I thought we were gonna be a family…"

The lump in Jake's throat seems to suddenly grow to twice its size. He lets out a shaky exhale and hopes Quentin doesn't notice. He bites down hard on his lip, desperate to just hold it together.

"Me, too."

It's a quiet admission, but it's all he can manage. He can't go in to all of the things he let his mind imagine because it hurts too much. He let himself imagine too much, and he can't talk about it. He can't talk about the wedding he pictured or the little league team he thought he'd be coaching or the baby bump he could see so _easily_ in his mind. He can't talk about any of it because he's never going to get it, and it just hurts too much.

So he doesn't say anything else. Instead, he just lets himself once again be turned into Quentin's pillow as he prepares for what's definitely going to be a long night. Maybe if he's lucky, he'll sleep for a couple of hours. Just one more day. They just need to make it through one more day, and then they can get out of here. He can keep his promise to Katie and get Quentin out. He hopes he's doing the right thing, hopes she would be proud of him and tell him that all of this is what she wanted.

It's all he has left.

...

A/N: One more part, I think...


End file.
